


Skin Deep

by TheFightingBull



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Day 2, M/M, SladeRobin Week, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-01-03 19:49:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21185036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFightingBull/pseuds/TheFightingBull
Summary: Slade Wilson wakes up with the first words he'll hear from his soulmate on the inside of his right wrist. While intrigued and maybe a touch possessive over the idea, he's not exactly thrilled. What sixty-two year old would be? He has more than half a century on whoever the unlucky bastard is.





	1. Then

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [【授翻】淺層印記 Skin Deep (鐘桶Sladjay，靈魂伴侶AU)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27430726) by [thesoleil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesoleil/pseuds/thesoleil)

> I have never written a soulmate a/u, so I apologize if it's not the most polished thing ever written. It's something I'd definitely like to explore more, and if this gets a good enough response, I might add more to the story.

**August 16th 1998**

Slade Wilson gritted his teeth and gasped in alarm as he stared down at the inside of his right wrist where he’d felt a sharp burning. The dim blue light of the large bulky monitor in front of him went ignored as he stared at the red lettering that appeared to be sloppily written. Two words stared up at him. Two words he’d be destined to hear from his soulmate and in their handwriting when they spoke to him for the first time. Upon hearing the words from his soulmate’s voice, rumor had it that he’d be able to _feel_ what they felt, like a psychic echo or some shit. He didn’t really believe that part, but it wasn’t like he had evidence for or against it.

The words themselves irritated him, but not near as much as the realization that his soulmate was sixty-two years younger than him.

“What is that, Slade?” Wintergreen demanded as he entered the small office. He walked forward, grabbing his wrist and staring in horror at the words _“Fuck me.”_ “This must be a joke!”

“Not at all.” Slade grimaced, more shocked than disgusted, but not by much. Not everyone had soulmates. He knew that. He had accepted that. He didn’t have a soulmate and had assumed he never would.

Though, considering the enhancements, maybe it had been naïve to believe he’d live a practically immortal life without gaining one. He stared at the words and frowned. He’d seen other people’s and always thought the simple “hello” or “can you tell me the time” type phrases were incredibly boring and entirely too generic, but his was vulgar and he wondered what kind of match was officially tied to him.

“You can’t let it be seen,” Billy informed him as he stepped back.

“You think?” Slade rolled his eye. He pulled the watch off his left hand and moved it to the right. Temporarily it would work. Once he was in his Deathstroke armor, it wouldn’t matter. The Ikon suit would protect any of his skin from showing, but especially where his mark was.

Soul marks were dangerous in his line of work. Or at least they were for his victims. All he often had to do was discover the bearer of his target’s mark and threaten their lives to gain compliance. They were a liability that he used to his greatest advantage. 

He sat quietly at the desk he’d been using to research his next target and purposefully avoided eying the brand-new mark. He refused to be fascinated or curious just as he often refused to lose control of himself in any other area of his life. He was Slade Joseph Wilson, also known as The Terminator, also known as Deathstroke, also known as The World’s Deadliest Assassin. He didn’t lose control.

* * *

**July 9th, 2013**

Robin laughed as he looked at Nightwing’s soul mark. They were both sitting on the edge of a rooftop, facing the city and it’s twinkling lights both below and beyond. The words were bunched in close together in a slanted style of handwriting and were black in color. _“Wait, you choose to call yourself Dick?”_ He was glad that the older vigilante and former sidekick was willing to spend some time with him. He’d never admit it aloud, but he had a bit of a crush on the older boy, even if he was taken. 

“Yeah, pretty embarrassing, and it’s stuck there forever,” Nightwing agreed as his slid his glove back on, a sheepish smile on his face. “The point is, Little Wing, you can’t think about the words or what they mean. They’ll distract you and out here, distractions can get you killed.”

“It was just so close,” He frowned, thinking back to the Joker’s horrid voice and the words that bounced out of his mouth accompanied by his high-pitched cackle.

“But it wasn’t accurate,” the older reminded. “It has to be word for word. Plus, you’ll feel something from them in that exact moment if they’re really your soulmate. I think that way you don’t have to worry about someone having already read the words and trying to fake you out.”

Jason bit at his bottom lip, unsure. He slowly removed his green glove. _“I was here for the original Robin; guess I’ll have to settle for his replacement.” _

It was so very similar to Joker’s earlier sentiment when he called out; “I was hoping to see the original Robin, guess we’ll just have to settle for the pretender.” Robin had landed painfully hard after one of Joker’s goons had knocked Batman into him while they were on a catwalk. Thankfully he’d had the grappling-gun to slow his otherwise fatal descent.

“Stop,” Nightwing said gently as he wrapped his gloved hand around the words. “Don’t focus on it. You’re still too young anyhow, so don’t worry about it.”

“Fifteen isn’t that young, you and Roy were younger than I am now,” he rolled his eyes behind the white lenses of his domino mask. He continued to chew on his lip, debating on telling his brother what really worried him. “It’s just, you know what this means, right?”

Nightwing tilted his head a moment before shrugging. “Not really, no.”

“Come on, Nightwing, think about it. Who else, that knows who we are, talks to us that way?” He knew the older boy understood what he was getting at, but stubbornly refused to say. He hated that about Richard “Dick” Grayson. The former Robin’s ability to outright ignore reality had always rubbed Jason the wrong way. “Bad guys, Nightwing. Bad guys.” 

“That’s not true,” Dick argued. “Green Arrow and Green Lantern often remark on it.” He said as he scratched at the back of his neck, a clear tell that he was full of shit. “You can’t know the context until the moment it happens, Little Wing.”

He frowned but then had a thought. “It says they’re after you but are stuck settling with me. Sounds like a villain to me.” He pouted. Seeing Nightwing frown, however, made him feel a little guilty. “Well, at least I can cross off most of the Gotham villains since I’ve already met them. It must happen soonish, though.”

“What makes you think that,” Nightwing smirked.

“Well, I’m Robin now and will be when I meet my soulmate.” He smiled.

Dick laughed behind his Nightwing mask and nodded before reaching up and squeezing his shoulder. “You never know, you could be a Robin ten years from now!”

“No fucking way!” He denied as he got to his feet. “If I’m still Robin at twenty-five, I demand someone put me out of mine _and_ B’s misery!”

* * *

**April 27th 2015**

Slade had been in a fight the night his mark faded. A particularly nasty fight in the middle of Austin, Texas. The enhanced or meta or whatever she was had been strong enough to snap his wrist and break his zygomatic bone, luckily on the side of his missing eye.

The pain, the adrenaline and the death of the woman had been enough to distract him. He didn’t know if it hurt to lose a soul mark the way it had to get one. All he knew was that while showering he looked down and the red letters were faded and blurry, a sure sign that one’s soulmate had died. 

He wanted to be indifferent but when his mind was working on something, it was nearly impossible to stop it. Within a second he’d done the math. Whoever that poor unfortunate soul had been, they were only sixteen. Four months or so shy of seventeen.

Slade felt a strange pang in his chest. He’d known it had been a short time since he’d felt the initial burn of the mark, but to be honest, he hadn’t even noticed time flying by since then. It wasn’t at all in his nature to be sentimental. Just efficient. Sixteen wasn’t old enough to learn that. It wasn’t old enough to do a lot of things, but especially to learn anything about life. 

He frowned and stared at the blurry, pink forms on his wrist. He couldn’t even make out what it said anymore. Disappointment filled his head and chest. It didn’t seem fair that the individual destined to be his, would be taken so soon from the world. What had been the point? Why bother marking either of them at all if those words would never be spoken? Then again, maybe whoever they were did something incredibly stupid and died too soon.

The world was full of reckless teenagers dying stupidly. Racing trains, drinking and driving, experimenting with drugs, etc. Suicide also represented a large portion of teen deaths. Was that what his soulmate had done? Had he or she offed themselves? It worried him as he stood beneath the spray of warm water.

He turned the water off and wrapped a large white towel around his waist before stepping out of the small hotel shower. He’d never intended to seek out his soulmate. He was a burden and a danger to anyone linked to him and they would be a distraction and/or a liability to him. He’d always known it would be for the best to avoid the man or woman.

As he dressed himself in a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, he made the decision to be indifferent. Feeling sorrow for the lost opportunity would only inconvenience him and those paying him to work. Whoever they had been, they were gone and dwelling on the circumstances of their untimely demise wouldn’t change a damned thing.

* * *

**Six months later…**

He woke with a start and stared down at the angry red letters across his wrist. _“Fuck me.”_ Clear, distinct, returned. How was that even possible? He was dreaming. Surely, he had to be dreaming, but the pain had been real, and the words weren’t blurring back to an unrecognizable state as he sat up in his bed. 

Moving quickly, he dressed himself in something warm. It was six am in the morning in late October and being in Montana, that meant cold weather. So, he was dressed in dark wash jeans, a charcoal gray sweater and some dark brown hiking boots. He grabbed his favorite black duster and headed out of his safehouse.

Really it was a cabin. A cabin far from anyone who knew him or what he did for a living.

He got into the beater of a truck he purchased last year and headed into a town that was about an hour and a half away. He wasn’t one for friends, but allies were a necessity in the business, especially when he needed answers.

By time he arrived it was almost eight in the morning. Still too early for Ms. Alexis Dahl, but she owed him the favor and would get over the early meeting. He wouldn’t be as rude as he was with others who owed him anything. Afterall, having a boon from an authentic psychic was worth quite a bit. Staring at the door he wondered if this situation was worth calling in what he needed to know.

He approached her front door, ignoring the side entrance for her customers and used her doorbell. He would give her exactly forty-five seconds to answer before he rang the bell again and an additional forty-five after that before he let himself in.

It was just after he took his finger off the small cold button for the second time that the wooden door swung open. “Who the He –” The tiny, frail looking woman cut herself off as she raised her head to look up at him. Her blue right eye and green left eye stared up at him in horror before she crossed herself. “Slade! Come in, come in.”

He smirked and took the invitation as he allowed her to lead him through the dusty old house. He knew the basement where the side stairs would have led her customers was filled with crystal balls, scarves and other items to look more “authentic”, whereas her main floor was an ordinary house. A small glass and oak hutch held a few porcelain dolls, a glass rose, and some school age achievements of her only son. There too, were a couple of black wing-backed chairs and a pretty cherry-wood table between the furniture.

Her long hair was silver, transitioning toward white as if she were as old as Slade. Wrinkles surrounded her eyes and mouth and her large knuckled hands trembled intermittently. She wasn’t nearly as old as he was, but youth was the cost of her gifts. Or so she’d always claimed.

“Take a seat if you’d like,” she waved to the two chairs in a voice that sounded far younger than her body should have. “I’ll make us some tea.”

She came back about ten minutes later with two teacups resting in their saucers. He could smell the subtle hints of rosehips, peppermint, and jasmine. He wasn’t at all surprised to see the cup was only about halfway full, indicating she was well aware he wouldn’t have much of the drink.

“Are we hunting someone, or do you need personal information?” Alexis asked as she took a slow, delicate sip off her porcelain teacup.

“Confirming the death of a target’s soulmate,” he lied before taking a drink from the delicate cup.

She scowled at him. “Why would you come to me for that?” She sneered. “Either the mark is sharp and vibrant or it’s blurry and faded. You hardly need a psychic for that!”

“That’s the thing, he claims his soulmate died about six months ago, that his mark became illegible and faded in color.” He explained. “Then a few days ago, the mark returned to its original form.”

“Same exact mark?” She asked skeptically. He nodded. “Not possible, Slade. You can’t fake out a soul mark. Dead is dead. So, unless his soulmate managed to be resurrected, he’s lying to you.” 

“You think I’d come to you based on hearsay?” He sneered and that caught her attention as her eyes widened.

“No. No I don’t think you would.”

“I saw it with my own eye,” he explained. “The mark was illegible, the coloring incorrect. It wasn’t a fake out. His mark indicated death.”

She bit nervously at her mouth, bright white teeth pressing firmly into her thin pink bottom lip. He looked to her eyes, watching as the dual colored irises slowly began to spin around the pupil. She was searching, searching for what he’d asked about. He didn’t know how specific she would get, but that was a risk he was willing to take when he chose to meet with her.

She coughed suddenly, bringing her hands to her mouth as her frail body was wracked with violent shudders. He stood, setting the teacup aside on the table and gently held her shoulders. She continued to cough for several more moments before she gasped for air. The last strands of silver in her hair now brilliant white.

“Oh Slade,” her youthful voice sighed. “All I am permitted to tell you is that your soulmate died.”

“Why is the mark back, then?”

“Why do you think it’s back?” she retorted.

“That doesn’t make sense unless they’re a meta.” Slade snapped.

“Are you a meta?” She countered and then looked at him archly. “I wonder how many times your mark disappeared on your soulmate over the course of their lifetime?”

He ignored her comment. It wasn’t inaccurate, but it wasn’t helpful either. “You can’t tell me who they are or where they are currently?” He asked.

“I see only what I’m allowed to see, Slade. Even if I knew what you wanted, the Fates would come for me and we both know there are things far worse than the death you’ll threaten me with, so don’t even start,” she warned.

He began to walk toward the front door when he felt the firm grip of a woman in her late thirties grab hold of his wrist. He looked down into her wide, smiling eyes. “You seek them, you’ve sought them, but never have you fought them.”

He rolled his one and only blue eye at her. “Cute.”

“I’m a genius. You’ll agree once you’ve met.” She snickered.

He left without another word.

When he got home, he spent hours trying to pinpoint where or who his soulmate might be. The problem was that he didn’t know where his soulmate had been when he or she died. He searched for hours trying to find anything he could about miraculous returns or even brain-dead people somehow regaining consciousness. There was nothing. Next, he tried looking up metas or any of the enhancement programs he knew of. Still nothing.

He started looking for notable April deaths and only one really stood out, but then that probably had more to do with an unhealthy obsession Slade had for his predecessor. Jason Peter Todd, ward of one Bruce Wayne, born on the same day his mark appeared, had died in an explosion at an embassy on April 29th this past year. The explosion at the embassy hadn’t synced up correctly, but that didn’t mean Robin’s actual death had been the same as Jason’s “official” time of death. Batman wasn’t _that_ dumb.

He tilted his head and considered the information at hand for several minutes. What if the boy were an enhanced or meta and had only just recently returned from a death nap? Surely Nightwing or Batman would know by now. If he was still dead, they’d know that, too. It was a long shot, especially since Robin hadn’t been seen since Jason’s death. That might actually prove the second Robin/ward really was dead.

There was only one way to know for sure.

* * *

Batman and Nightwing easily overpowered Deathstroke in an alley in the dark of night. They’d just finished tying him to some pallets they’d broken down and zip tied into a chair of sorts. It made Bruce nervous. Never, ever had it been so easy to take down the enhanced assassin in the past. Even with Dick’s help, they’d struggled the few times Slade came into Gotham and considering they were barely speaking at the moment, it was a miracle they’d been able to work well long enough to capture him.

“What do you want, Deathstroke?” He asked, not bothering to hide his voice. He was well aware that this assassin knew exactly who he and Nightwing were.

“Heard a Robin went missing, was curious if he’d made his way back home.”

The pain that tore through his heart was worse than a punch in the gut from the very assassin they thought they’d trapped. Clearly, Slade Wilson was exactly where he wanted to be. Bruce could see the way Dick stiffened and knew he felt the same. They’d been tricked into a macabre interview of sorts and were stuck riding it out.

“What’s it to you, Deathstroke?” Nightwing sneered.

“It was bad enough you told the world Jason Todd died,” Slade said in a quiet but firm tone. “I just want to know if there was any possibility he managed to crawl out of his grave.”

“You bastard!” Nightwing dived at Deathstroke, but Batman caught him before contact was made.

He couldn’t allow his former protégé to lose control and that’s exactly what the young man was doing. The death of Dick’s “Little Wing” had changed them all, and for the past few months, his ward seemed to have lost his inner light.

“It’s not _that_ unbelievable,” Deathstroke snorted behind his mask. “I’ve woken up in a morgue a few times in my life.”

“He’s dead,” He answered as he released the acrobat. It was the truth and if Slade chose to dig around deeper, he’d learn it anyhow. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. Actually, the sooner Slade had the information he wanted, the sooner he was to leave. Though why the assassin wanted to know was a mystery. “Why do you ask?”

Deathstroke didn’t move, and with his mask on, Bruce couldn’t read him at all. Though he doubted he’d be able to read anything Slade didn’t want him to, even with the mask off. Bruce looked to Dick to be sure there wouldn’t be another fight before he tried to interrogate their guest again.

“Why. Do. You. Ask.” He repeated in the Batman voice.

The mask tilted upward to stare up at him. “Who killed him and how do you know for sure that he’s dead? That he’s not trying to claw his way out of a coffin as we speak? Pretty gruesome fate if you ask me.”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Nightwing snapped. “This is too cruel, even for you, Slade!”

Before Batman could respond or even react, Nightwing was running up a wall and pulling himself up a fire escape. He didn’t call back the young man, but instead tracked the graceful progress of the original Robin as he made his way up the building and over the side of the roof. It was a mature decision on Dick’s part. He almost wished he too could run away from the conversation.

“That bad?” Mocked the assassin.

Batman didn’t bother to hold himself back as he punched Deathstroke square in the face. His knuckles stung a touch, but it was worth it to see Deathstroke on his back, still tied to the makeshift chair. Yes, Jason’s death stole Dick’s light, but it took something from him, too. His compassion and control. He’d gotten far more violent over the months. He’d become less concerned with capturing the men and women he was after and far more interested in the pain and how much they could take before he had to stop himself.

“Heard Joker is still in the ICU after what you did to him,” The voice taunted. “That have anything to do with your second ward’s death?”

“Since when do you care?” he repeated with a growl. “Your obsession has always been with Nightwing, or is he too old now for your tastes?”

He was ready for the burst of strength that set Deathstroke free, and while he thought he was ready for the three lightning fast strikes, he was only just able to stay on his feet. His head was pounding, and his jaw was already swelling as he was backed into a wall by the assassin.

“I’ll go have a talk with Nightwing, I’m sure he’ll be far more cooperative than you, whether he wants to be or not,” Slade offered, and Bruce knew that’s what it was. A trade off. He could talk willingly, or Slade would go torture Dick for the information he wanted.

Gritting his teeth against the pain and disorientation Batman gave in because Bruce was too afraid of Dick being harmed. He couldn’t lose another one. It would break him. Permanently. “Joker beat Robin with a crowbar. Even if the explosion hadn’t killed him, it’s believed that the damage sustained from Joker would have.”

“When was this? April 27th?”

He didn’t know how Slade knew that date, but he wasn’t going to give him the accurate timeline. The man was obsessed with killing any member of the Teen Titans, current or former and he wondered if that’s what this had to do with.

“Jason and Robin both died on April 29th. Not sure where you got the 27th from.” He lied.

A very long pause took place before Deathstroke backed away two steps. “No miraculous returns, then.” He stated, but Batman still shook his head as if it were a question. Again, silence fell, though it didn’t last long before Slade chose to speak again. “Do you want me to kill him for you?”

The question felt even worse than the hits, even worse than being asked about Jason’s death. His body froze in shock as his mind burned with the need for vengeance. His throat felt full while his chest felt hollow. His tongue was dry, and his eyes were wet. He wanted to nod. He wanted to say yes. He wanted it more than he’d wanted his parents back after they were first taken from him. It would be so easy. Just one little word.

Yes.

Yes!

Deathstroke didn’t move any more than he did as he contemplated what the world would be like without Joker. They stood like stoic statues, waiting for him to find his words, to find his voice. One word, one answer he desperately wanted to give and the sorrows that the clown rained down on his victims would be over. The case would be closed. The wounds left to heal rather than fester and bleed every time he hurt someone new.

“You just say the word, Batman, and I’ll make sure that clown never cracks another smile,” Slade offered. “Or skull.”


	2. Now

**Present Day…**

Jason read the newspaper carefully for probably the millionth time. It was dated October 31st, 2015. Four years and some odd months ago. The headline and picture accompanying it took up most of the front page’s space. Joker Found Dead in Gotham General Hospital: Jaw Still Missing! It was his second favorite piece of literature and his favorite piece of non-fiction. The large picture was of Joker in a body cast covered in blood on a hospital bed, but with his face cut off to prevent the grotesque injury from being seen.

It didn’t matter, Jason had long ago found the negative of the original picture. He’d studied it carefully, ensuring it was real and that the clown had in fact been murdered in what would be his death bed. Bruce/Batman had been mortified, taking the blame for the clown’s death since it was him that placed the clown in the hospital in the first place.

He’d been pretty mad at first that Bruce hadn’t been able to nor had he wanted to kill the clown. It had taken some time to get over until he finally came to terms with the fact that Bruce Wayne was never going to be a killer. Jason also soothed his hurt by reminding himself that had it not been for Bruce Wayne putting the freak in a body cast it might not have been so easy for whoever actually did the killing.

He sat in his bar, drinking straight from a cold bottle of his favorite lager. He had an ashtray beside him, ready to light up and smoke whenever he felt like it. It was against the law, technically, but so too was breaking and entering, vigilantism, and killing people. It wasn’t that he thought he was above the law. Not at all. He just felt that if he was going to break some of the bigger ones, it didn’t matter karmically if he broke some of the little laws, too.

Besides, it was _his_ bar. 

“Hey, Boss,” the bartender, a short, balding white guy named Jimmy called and looked toward the front door where a uniformed police officer was walking in.

“Thanks, James,” he raised his beer to Jimmy and then turned to face his fiercest rival and favorite sibling. “Officer Grayson, what the fuck do you want?”

The scowl that he received in lieu of a greeting made it clear that this wasn’t a social call. Damn. His brothers were so much easier to work with when they weren’t on the job. “How about we try something else. Something more polite. ‘Good evening Officer Grayson, what brings you to my bar?’ Just once, Jason. What do you say?”

He chuckled but gave it a try. “Why good evening Officer Grayson, what brings you to my bar? Nothing too serious, I hope.”

“Well done, so glad to see you’re capable of new tricks,” Dick tried for the stoic look, but Jason saw the hint of an exasperated smile at the corners of his mouth. Nothing kept Dick down for long.

“Do we need to talk privately or out here?” He asked with a jovial smile.

“Privately if you don’t mind,” his brother frowned.

“Right away, Officer. Please _do_ follow me,” Jason teased in his best impression of Alfred. He left behind his beer and cigarettes as he took his brother to the back room and then up a staircase that led to the flat above the bar. 

“You’re such a child,” Dick laughed as they began their ascent.

“Yeah, well,” Jason shrugged and pulled out his keys. It took only a second to get the door open, even after pressing his hand against the biometric lock. Once they were both inside, he shut and locked it back up. “So, what’s up, Dickie-Bird?”

“I need some help from The Red Hood.”

“God that must have hurt,” Jason smirked as he walked over to his coffee table and grabbed his spare pack of cigarettes. “What is it that the great Golden Boy Wonder can’t handle on his own?”

Dick’s face looked pinched, like he was tasting something sour. “It’s Arsenal. He, he did something incredibly stupid.”

“When _doesn’t_ Roy do something stupid,” he asked in all seriousness. He let the playful tone drop knowing that if they were talking masks, it was too important to be fucking around. “What’d he do?”

“He stole one of Deathstroke’s bounties,” Dick whispered, as if speaking any louder would somehow invoke the deadly cyclops.

“What the fuck, Dick? Why the hell would he do that?” He demanded as he pulled out and lit a cancer stick. “How’d he even manage it? I though you said The Terminator was invincible or some shit?”

Jason wasn’t sure what the exact history was between Deathstroke and the Teen Titans. He knew he’d been briefly hunted by the man during his extremely short tenure as a Titan, but he’d never actually come face to face with him. From everything Dick and Roy said about the freak, he was beyond bad ass and a difficult fight for Batman!

“He didn’t mean to.” Dick sighed and walked over to the couch before plopping down on it. He ran his hand through his thick black hair and shook his head. The fact that he didn’t jump Jason’s ass for smoking around him proved how stressed out he was. “Apparently, someone hired Deathstroke to bring some mobster to their rival. Roy didn’t know –”

“But it wouldn’t have mattered even if he did,” Jason interrupted as he blew out a plume of grey smoke. “We both know he would have arrested him anyhow, right?”

“Well, that’s true, but when Roy dropped him off with the cops, one of them was crooked.”

“Oh shit,” Jason frowned.

“Yeah. This family felt it was better to kill the guy then let their rivals get a hold of him. So, he got thrown in a cell and was stabbed to death with a toothbrush.” Dick explained.

“Well, fuck. I wasn’t expecting that,” he admitted. “So, I take it you want me on guard duty?”

“You’re the only one he’s never had to face before, Jason. He might know _of_ you, but he doesn’t know you or your habits, yet.”

Jason stood quietly, smoking his cigarette as he thought about it. The Red Hood hadn’t been involved with the Bats much since his return to Gotham. That was on purpose. Anyone who watched the Bats would watch him and he didn’t want the scum bags of the world to know that they could all be used against each other.

He thought too about what he knew of Slade Wilson. The man’s reputation was outright scary. Any man that could knock Bruce out cold was to be approached with extreme caution. Meta or not, Bruce didn’t go down easy. If this guy, who was literally known to be hands down _the_ deadliest assassin in the world, was after Roy Harper the odds of Dick’s soulmate surviving were questionable at best.

“I take it this is a strike while the iron’s still hot sort of a situation?” Jason frowned as stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray on his tv stand.

Dick only nodded.

“Dick, you gotta breathe man, Roy will be ok. He goes by the name Arsenal for fuck’s sake.” He tried to lighten the mood.

“I know and I’m hoping that will be enough but, Jason, I’m not kidding. If we don’t work together on this, we’ll never be able to protect Roy.”

Jason sat beside his big brother and closed his eyes. “Has anyone even tried to reach out to Slade? Maybe explain what went wrong and apologize.”

“Of course, I did, but Slade sent me a picture of a bullet with Roy’s name etched on it.” Dick’s eyes watered and Jason felt his heart stop at the sight. “He’s been looking for a way to hurt me and take Roy out all at the same time.”

“Jesus, Dick, he doesn’t know Roy’s your soulmate, does he?”

Dick nodded.

Jason grabbed hold of his brother’s shoulder and squeezed it hard until Dick looked him in the eyes. “It’s going to be okay, Dick. I’ll put everything I have into protecting your dumbass of a soulmate.”

* * *

Slade didn’t give one rat’s ass about the mobster being killed in a jail cell. What he cared about was that Roy Harper had gotten in his way. He wasn’t sure how much clearer he could have been with Dick about them all staying out of his way if they wanted to continue to breathe, but it felt like a betrayal. He’d gone after the Titans full tilt for a time and for him to walk away, to become distracted with other jobs and let them go? It wasn’t something he’d done for anyone else.

All he’d asked of Dick was that he keep those brats the Hell away from him and his targets. Dick had promised that he would and that if he couldn’t, he’d find a way to get a warning out to Slade as well as the Titan crossing his path.

He should have known better. Batman was a liar so it made perfect sense that his sidekick would be, too. Dick’s apology only made it worse. Roy had yet to acknowledge a mistake had been made beyond hiding behind his soulmate.

Slade was a man of his word and he damned sure wasn’t going to allow this to go unchecked. It was time that the former Teen Titans learned their lesson once and for all. When he found Dick and Roy, he’d pull every scream he ever longed to hear from them and their friends until they were incapable of using their vocal cords.

Part of the blame, he knew, was on him. He’d been too kind. Been to understanding and open with Dick Grayson after trying to get him to become his apprentice. They’d misunderstood his so-called obsession with him, attributing it to some kind of lust or love for the boy. Even Batman had made that mistake. Really, he’d simply seen the potential in Dick. It was a greater potential than his own kids held and he’d been desperate to use it for his own gain.

Well, either way, that part of their life was over. Long gone were the days of those insipid teenagers underestimating him. No more would he take it easy on them just because they all reminded him of his own kids in their own ways. He wasn’t the sentimental fool he’d once been, and they were going to find that out.

* * *

Jason was in his Red Hood regalia sans the helmet as he puffed away on a cigarette. It was kinda cold and he’d always preferred to smoke during the cooler months. His domino mask was still on, in case someone managed to sneak up on him, but he had pretty good hearing and great instincts. It wasn’t likely that he’d be caught off guard.

He watched the regulars of his bar go in and out, waiting for Dick and Roy to arrive. They’d been in constant contact with him via messengers and text messages since entering his territory. Considering Jason was going to be the one doing the bulk of the work, he wanted to make sure it was an area he had plenty of traps and at least two safehouses in.

The more he’d read up on Slade Wilson, the more nervous he’d become. Jason wasn’t as big as Batman in height, but he was just as strong, maybe stronger. Apparently, that was nothing to Slade who was six foot four and as strong as a meta. These fucking enhanced soldiers were getting on Jason’s nerves. What happened to normal villains who couldn’t take a beating without falling unconscious?

“Hey, we’re going into your bar,” Dick’s voice came across the earpiece.

It was all part of the plan. They were sure that Slade would be able to hack into their comms and listen in. They wanted to lull Deathstroke into a false sense of security. He pulled out his cell phone and read the message from Dick.

_We’ll head straight to your flat and get changed._

Jason pocketed the phone in his black tactical pants and spun around to set up his sniper rifle. It took him less than a minute to get set up on the tripod and get the front door in his sights. He finished his cigarette and decided to light up another for the hell of it.

“Shit, he’s already here,” Roy’s voice announced.

“What?” Jason frowned as he set the barely burning smoke aside. “No one matching the photos or descriptions you gave me has entered my bar!”

“He’s not physically here,” Dick answered in a forcefully calm voice. “He’s got Roy in his crosshairs. From your nine, Red.”

Jason stood and looked across the relatively shorter skyline, right where another sniper could be set up. He took off at a run, needing to get to the buildings across the street and to his left. He launched himself into the air as he fired the grappling gun. It wasn’t nearly as loud as Batman’s but he didn’t doubt for a moment that a man like Slade would have known what to listen for.

“This is not how this was supposed to go down guys!” Jason snapped into the comms.

“No shit!” Roy cursed back.

He ran across the rooftops as silent as he could until he realized that the gun was set up without anyone to man it. He kept his eye open for traps as he approached the gun, looking all around it. Nothing. He frowned and took a peek through the scope. It was trained on Roy’s head right at his hair line, the red dot unnoticed by bar patrons.

“He’s not here,” He informed them as he tried to control the racing of his heart. “He was obviously, but not anymore.”

The two quickly made their way through the bar and headed for his flat. He tilted his head back and realized he could feel the wind running through his black and white hair. Shit. It wasn’t too big of deal since he could use it as a mini bomb, but he’d meant to wear it for its tech while fighting the angry assassin.

He disassembled Deathstroke’s gun and moved it to the edge of the roof where it wouldn’t be seen so easily. He could have taken it but stealing another man’s gun was akin to stealing a man’s soulmate. Cruel, unnecessary, and overall pointless for the thief. It would never feel right and it would always be someone else’s.

He crouched down over the edge of the roof and looked down at his bar, waiting for Arsenal and Nightwing to spill out of his roof access and join him when he heard a chuckle.

“I _was_ here for the original Robin; guess I’ll have to settle for his replacement.” As each word was spoken his wrist tingled in response.

Jason spun around, his eyes widening at the sight of Slade The Terminator Wilson. Between the freshly spoke words and the odd feeling in his chest, Jason sighed irritably and muttered; “Fuck me.”

* * *

“Fuck me.” The brat grumbled.

“Oh, I think we should work a bit of foreplay in before we get down to business, pretty bird. I’d hate to hurt you during our first time.” Slade responded, ignoring the hope, fear and wonder he felt coming from the young man.

The boy’s lips turned into a wicked grin as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his brown jacket. “What’s the matter, old man?” He placed the smoke between his lips and lit it with a zippo, pocketing the pack and lighter in practiced movements. “Need the extended time for your little blue pill to work?”

Slade laughed aloud at the reversal, ignoring the sputtering and choking from Roy and Dick he heard from the comms he’d hacked into. He took a step closer, watching the Hood’s movements and reactions. The cape was good at hiding his tells. Most people, even the good ones, wouldn’t have caught the twitch of his right hand beside the Jericho strapped to his thigh. They wouldn’t have seen the way his whole body momentarily froze.

“You think you can stop me from taking what I want?” He asked, his eye pointedly looking toward the other roof where Nightwing and Arsenal were standing.

Jason Todd shrugged his shoulders and took another drag. “The real question isn’t whether I can stop you, but whether those two are what you really want.”

He snorted. “You think I have so little control that I’d give up my prey in order to chase you around Gotham?”

“What makes you think I’d run?”

“You don’t seem very eager to do much more than make your little quips and smoke,” he pointed out. “If you’re gonna make a move Kid, make it. I don’t have time for this.”

“Now who’s trying to skip the foreplay?”

Jason lunged at Slade and he was forced to block several punches in rapid succession. The kid was faster than he expected for as bulky as he was. He threw a few strikes of his own, pleased at the skill the former Robin showed in evasion.

They continued to trade blows, Slade only needing to duck once or twice thanks to the obvious telegraphing. He wondered if Jason realized just how much he gave away when he fought. He could see the kick coming and blocked. Same with the punch that followed. He got a shot to the kid’s head, one hard enough to knock the domino mask out of place. The next series of hits, he simply reached forward and ripped it off.

“Ah, fuck!” His soulmate cursed.

“You seem to be having some troubles keeping up,” he remarked. “Your predecessor certainly never struggled so quick out of the gate.”

Fury beat through his heart along with something close to hurt from his soulmate. Jason redoubled his efforts, but the emotion made him sloppy and reckless. Slade was done playing though, he had a lot to get done so he stepped up his game and landed a vicious hit just beneath the kid’s ribcage.

The Red Hood only just took a step back to soften the impact, but Slade knew he’d knocked the wind out of him. Especially as he gasped and grabbed at his stomach. He delivered an upper cut, forcing his soulmate to the ground. He jumped atop him quickly, his left hand wrapping around his throat and his right fist raised and ready to strike.

“If this is your idea of foreplay, I’d definitely prefer we opt out of penetration.” The kid’s pretty green-blue eyes focused on the hilt of his sword before looking back at his face

A high-pitched beeping had him looking down at his chest where a tiny flash grenade was attached to him. The sound increased in frequency before the loud pop and blinding light went off. He was forced to let go of the hoodless Red Hood as he brought up his own arms to block the light.

Damn the Bats and their toys!

Luckily, they’d both been too close to be unaffected and with his healing factor, Slade knew he’d recover first.

That was until he something heavy and metal struck the back of his head and everything went black.

* * *

Jason dropped the bent metal bat that Arsenal had tossed to him as his wrist burned in pain. He’d never swung so hard in his life and he wasn’t at all surprised that he’d knocked the man into a temporary coma and/or death. He dropped to his knees and took a deep breath.

“Fuck, Red,” Arsenal gasped.

“You think you hit him hard enough?” Nightwing demanded, and Jason knew he was pissed that he’d likely just seen him kill a man right before his eyes.

“I don’t know, Dickhead, you tell me!” He snarled as he pulled the sleeve up on his jacket, revealing the dark black lettering unblurring and returning to its true form.

Both men cringed, but Nightwing in particular appeared the most upset. Harper wasn’t going to say anything and he’d likely pretend he didn’t get the significance, but Jason knew his brother. There was no way Dick, even dressed as Nightwing, would handle their discovery very well.

“He _would_ be alive,” Arsenal sneered, forcing the attention away from the more obvious issue. “What are we going to do with him?”

“We’re locking him up and quickly,” Nightwing ordered.

“My ass,” He shook his head. “My soulmate, my choice.”

“He’s going to kill you after what you did to him,” Arsenal warned.

“Are you sure?” His brother asked. “I mean are you really sure it’s him?”

He growled back as he got back to his feet and stepped up to his brother and brother-in-law. “I felt it, trust me. I could feel how amused he was during the entirety of our fight. He was testing me. Feeling me out.”

The gravity of the situation seemed to finally settle on his brother as he paled. Jason knew it wasn’t ideal and he knew that only Dick truly understood how dangerous this guy was, but there wasn’t anything they could do to change the words on his wrist. Dick stared down at the unconscious, barely breathing assassin before looking back up.

“How the fuck does someone manage to be as unlucky as you are,” the archer shook his head. “It’s like the universe is literally out to get you.”

“Stop it, Arsenal,” Nightwing groaned. “There has to be a way to change this. We just need to find someone who knows about this kind of thing.”

“There’s nothing we can do about it. Trust me, I talked to people when it would disappear and reappear. Even the League of Shadows said there was nothing to be done.” Jason shrugged.

“How can you be so calm about this?” Arsenal asked. 

“I’ve been expecting something pretty damned similar to tonight for years, man,” he answered honestly.

“What?” Nightwing’s brow furrowed in confusion. “How could you expect this?”

“Dude, I fucking told you it’d be a damned supervillain when I was still working alongside the Bat!”

The scraping of metal against the concrete roof they stood on caught all of their attention. Slade was starting to come to. It was really for the best that Dick and Roy be as far away as possible if they didn’t want to reverse all the work Jason had done to keep them out of his sights to begin with.

“Get out of here, quick,” He ordered.

“Jason,” Nightwing whispered as he started to walk toward him only to be pulled back by Arsenal.

“I can handle him, I promise,” he looked then to Roy. “Go!”

Arsenal jumped as Slade grumbled something unintelligible and grabbed hold of his soulmate, dragging him back toward the edge of the roof. It didn’t take long for Dick to get with the program as they both finally retreated.

He didn’t know if he’d been honest when he made his promise, but he damned sure knew that he was plenty distracted by the things he was feeling from Slade Wilson. All he could do was hope the older man was just as disturbed and incapable of paying attention. With the aforementioned shitty luck that Arsenal had been kind enough to mention, Jason seriously doubted it.

Carefully and slowly he approached the rapidly healing enhanced soldier. “So, would you say this is the part where I run, or should I stick around and make sure you’re alright?” He asked as he crouched down beside the still unmoving body. That blow to the head must have been pretty gnarly if he was still in and out of consciousness.

Or so he thought.

He gasped as a black-gloved hand tightened around his bare throat, the movement so fast he hadn’t even been able to track it. Jason tried to pry the fingers away, but Slade was expertly cutting off his air and that made everything more difficult.

“That hurt, brat,” Deathstroke snarled as he got to his feet, dragging him up alongside him, despite Jason’s own two hundred plus pounds.

A shiver of excitement ran up and down his spine. Jason grinned, even as he struggled for air, as his eyes dropped to the bent bat he’d used. Slade’s eye followed and the man chuckled as he tightened his grip. “So, Nightwing and Arsenal left you alone here with me?”

“I told them to,” Jason smiled as he raised his chin in challenge. “Call me old-fashioned, but I think a soul pair should spend their first night attempting to kill each other, rather than family and friends.”

For a moment, Jason tried to feel whatever emotion Slade might be putting off, but he felt nothing. He had no idea if he was driving the man insane or amusing him anymore. During the fight, he’d picked up on a few different feelings from the assassin, but at the moment it was nothing. Maybe Dick was right, maybe his soulmate really was a master of control.

He wondered if he was emitting anything.

“You sure you don’t want anyone around to hear your last words?”

“Knowing the shit that comes out of my mouth? Think I’ll pass.”

“You know, even if I hadn’t spent hours watching and learning about you on my way out here, your mouth would have given you away.”

“Oh?”

“You and Dick have never known when to shut up. It’s a Robin trait.”

He snickered at the man’s comment. “You’re welcome to try your hand at making me.”

* * *

For years he’d longed to hear Robin cry, beg and plead with him for mercy. The whimpers and screams that he was extorting from the younger man were only antagonizing him to heights of further cruelty. Beautiful teal eyes stared up at him, tears wetting his thick black lashes as his swollen lips parted to keen and whine.

“Please, please, please,” Jason begged in confusion, unsure of whether he wanted the abuse of his ass to stop or continue, his damp hair sticking to his face. Some white and some black strands dangerously close to falling into his eyes.

“Say it,” Slade ordered as he struck the boy’s prostate with the toy. “Say those words you know I want to hear?”

“Slade…” he whined.

“Say it,” he growled as he tightened his other hand’s grip on Jason’s throat.

“Fuck me! Please, please fuck me, Slade.” Jason begged. “Want the real thing. Want you, please!” 

He grinned like the predator he knew he was as he pulled the toy out of the young man’s body. He watched Jason shiver and clench, as if he felt empty and incomplete. Grabbing hold of the boy’s hips he lined himself up with that spasming hole and slid right in as Jason practically screamed.

He may have doubted how badly he wanted a young, brash soulmate throughout the past two decades, but fully sheathed inside of Jason, all those doubts fell to the wayside. The foul-mouthed, violent, passionate Robin was his and his alone. And now that they were together, nothing would ever separate them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was my attempt at a soulmate story and at ending a story with more than 2,000 words. I've never really done before so...yay! I finished a story. If you want more, let me know and maybe I can add to the story a bit?


	3. Later

Jason stared down at his wrist, sneering in distaste. He’d been waiting his whole life to hear the words. To meet the man or woman that would say them. He’d focused entirely on the type of individual that would speak of him as if he were a second-rate sidekick. The obsession and concern and constant worrying had nearly consumed him up to the day he died.

After that, things changed. He found he just couldn’t care about the mark or the bitterness it had once inspired in him regarding Dick Grayson. Having a soulmate, even if they were a villain, just hadn’t mattered when he was so busy picking up the pieces to his life and determining who he was and how he wanted to interact with his family.

But _now_, another change had turned his life upside down and the damned mark was all he could focus on. He was no longer resentful of Dick, but he was livid with his soulmate. It wasn’t as if the mark would fade now that they knew one another or like people would forget what the words were. He’d had to hide his because they literally spelled out that he was or had been a Robin!

“Hey, Brat, what’s wrong?” Slade’s voice interrupted his angry thoughts.

He looked up from his wrist and shrugged. It was the morning after their first night. He didn’t know what Slade would want. For that matter, Jason didn’t know what he wanted either. The sex had been fantastic, no doubt about it. He’d never met anyone so compatible with him and figured that it must be the case with most soulmates. You just didn’t hear about soulmates not at least trying to make things work.

He sat at Slade’s breakfast-nook. It reminded him of the one in in Wayne Manor. Dining rooms were for dinner. Breakfast-nooks were for breakfast and lunch. Unless of course the breakfast or lunch were for a formal get-together or something. He’d double check with Alfred to make sure he had that right. All he knew was that he’d spent most of his breakfasts and lunches sitting in the kitchen, his favorite spot being the booth side.

“Are you ignoring me on purpose?” Slade’s voice growled with a deadly edge.

Jason quickly shook his head. “No, sorry. Just distracted,” he admitted.

“By?”

“How much I hate my soul-mark for one,” he spat with more venom than he’d meant.

Slade looked him over carefully, the assassin fully dressed in civvies as his arms crossed over his black clad chest. “Oh?”

“The words, not you,” Jason corrected and then realized that he needed to correct that to. “I mean, we don’t know each other yet to know if we hate each other, but yeah. Your mark can be taken in a lot of different ways and none are insulting to you at all! But mine?”

Slade walked over without a word and took hold of his wrist, reading and looking over the mark intensely. Jason swallowed hard at the contact. The strength of the hold had his mind returning to how carefully but firmly, that same strength had stroked his cock.

He forced himself to look up at his silent soulmate, forced himself to see the expression on his face. Unfortunately, it didn’t do him any good. As per Dick’s warning many years ago, Slade’s expression gave away nothing.

“What bothers you about it?” Slade asked neutrally.

Jason felt his heart drop into his stomach. “What the fuck do you mean ‘what bothers you about it’?” He snarled as he yanked his wrist back and stood to face him. “You not only mention another man, but you literally tell me you’re settling for me! That’s on me forever!”

“You and I are aware of the context so it shouldn’t matter.”

He blinked as his jaw dropped. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“We view things very differently, Jason,” Slade said in an oddly gentle tone. “I can’t change what I said to you when we first met any more than you can change what you said. Being bitter or angry about it won’t do any good. I suggest you learn to see it differently. If not, you’re just going to be hurting yourself.”

“You don’t get it!” Jason shouted, hating that even if Slade was right, that he was so fucking calm about it.

Slade’s right brow raised over his black eye patch. “You think I’m blind to your insecurities, Jason? That I’m unaware of yours and Dick’s initial attempt at a familial bond back before you died?”

“I have to see this every day of my life!”

“So?” Slade shrugged.

“Fuck you! How can you be so nonchalant about this?” He grabbed at the sides of his head with frustrated rage. He didn’t like that he was back to hating and obsessing over his mark. He didn’t like that he couldn’t see it as rationally as Slade could and he especially didn’t like that Slade _could _be rational. 

Before Jason could defend or prepare himself, he found he’d been dragged into the taller man. Slade’s teeth nipped and bit first at his jaw, both of his powerful hands holding the sides of his neck firmly, but without pressure. Then Jason’s lips were assaulted with the same teeth.

“You forget that I had to live without a mark of any kind for sixty-two years, Kid,” Slade grumbled against his mouth.

“Eew,” Jason teased, but Slade ignored him.

“I didn’t have a mark and I thought I never would, but then it showed up,” the assassin continued, “And as much as I thought I didn’t want it, as much as I feared having a soulmate, nothing compared to the despair and loss I felt when it disappeared for half a year.”

Jason choked at the reminder. He was startled by the new perspective, too. He looked into that intense, predatory blue eye and shivered.

“So no, Jason. I don’t really give a fuck what our first words turned out to be,” Slade continued, “All that matters is that they were spoken.”

He didn’t really know how to respond as he brought his own hands up to hold Slade’s wrists. He didn’t pull the man’s hands from his neck; he felt oddly comforted by the grip. Especially considering how childish and immature he felt for being angry about the words.

“Way to put me in my place,” he forced a laugh as he attempted to lighten the mood.

“Quit being a brat and I wouldn’t have to,” Slade grinned before kissing him again. “Look, you and I have things we need to discuss. Would you like to do that here or in public?”

His brows furrowed at the odd options. “You make that sound like I might _want_ to pick a public spot?” He frowned and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his tactical pants. “What, are you gonna kill me to prevent me being used against you?”

Again, he tried to make it sound like a joke, but it obviously didn’t settle well with Slade. The older man glared down at him and Jason wondered how he’d be punished for the stupid comment. He kind of liked that Slade bit at him to get his attention mere moments ago and he was curious what other methods he’d use to try to keep Jason in line.

He shivered.

“You should know Jason, that if you get yourself killed, I’ll be very disappointed in you,” he began with a deadly serious tone. “The way I see it, you dying or even nearly dying, is your only real method of leaving me and I don’t take rejection well.”

Jason swallowed hard as he grabbed hold of Slade’s hair and tugged him back into his lips. He kissed him, trying so hard to convey in emotion and passion what he was incapable of saying with words. The list of wants and desires he’d had in his life were actually relatively low, but the moment they’d started fighting on that rooftop, Slade became an all-encompassing desire.

Slade growled into the kiss and Jason felt weak in the knees at the sound. The possessive, demanding response from his soulmate. In that one seering kiss, Jason was sure he could feel Slade trying to erase his fears and insecurities. Deathstroke wanted _him_. Not Dick. Not Robin. But Jason. The Red Hood.

“Feel better, Brat?” Slade asked when they finally separated.

“Much.” he grinned. “What about you?”

“I heard you loud and clear.”

* * *

Bruce listened to Dick and Roy explain what had happened. Roy seemed fairly calm, but Dick looked terrified. He was pacing the study, on the verge of tears as he repeated how certain he was that Deathstroke was going to kill Jason, that he’d see a soulmate as a threat rather than an asset. A threat to be terminated at the earliest convenience.

“Dick you’re making me dizzy,” Roy complained from the leather couch.

“What if he tries to take him away from us?”

Seated behind his desk, Bruce was grateful that he could hide the way his hands tightened on the armrests. He didn’t want to alarm Dick by reacting so visibly to something he, too feared. While he didn’t believe that Slade Wilson would kill his soulmate, he did worry that he’d hold him captive. That he’d try to mold Jason into a murderer.

More than that, Bruce feared it wouldn’t be too hard a task.

He loved Jason, he always had. Even when he was getting too violent and impulsive, he’d loved his son. He never regretted taking him in or even training him. But to say that Jason wasn’t capable of becoming a vicious, blood-thirsty killer was naïve.

True, he’d never be what the League had wanted. A cold-blooded, heartless machine that took orders and killed when necessary. Jason’s raging passion was his greatest protection against becoming just like Slade or Ra’s or even Talia. Bruce’s second Robin felt everything, even after his death, with such intensity that heartless would never apply to him.

Jason ran too hot to ever be cold.

What could pairing him up with someone like Slade do to his son’s psyche? Jason only needed a hint of permission these days to pull the trigger and Bruce didn’t doubt for a moment that Slade would happily give his. Slade wouldn’t even require an explanation. He wouldn’t make Jason think through his actions or question whether killing was really necessary or right.

Slade Wilson was a contract killer. He had no qualms with murdering innocent people for the right cost, let alone villains and monsters. Deathstroke operated on a code only he knew and it terrified Bruce that the man would have such a powerful influence over his second son.

Dick was right to be afraid of Slade taking him away because he was scared of the same thing.

“Father?” Damian’s head peaked into the door and Dick immediately silenced his emotional rant. Once he was sure Dick and Roy wouldn’t say anything his son didn’t need to hear, Bruce gestured for him to come inside. “Todd and some old man are here; Pennyworth refuses to let them wander the house and is keeping an eye on them in the foyer.”

Roy got to his feet at the news and went to Dick, who’d frozen in place. It wasn’t a good sign of things to come. Bruce cleared his throat and nodded. “Thank you, Damian. Ask Alfred to bring them both in here, please.”

His son nodded, looking with concern toward his favorite brother and then running off to do as he was told.

“Dick, Roy, you’re both welcome to stay, but neither of you are required to be here,” he offered.

“I’d like to leave, but he won’t.” Roy sighed as he massaged Dick’s shoulders, trying to comfort his mate. “Come on, Dick, let’s sit down. You know Deathstroke better than anyone. Holding an aggressive position will only antagonize him.”

Bruce was grateful for Roy’s calm thinking. At least now Dick knew that Jason was alive. Bruce never doubted it, though. It didn’t line up with what he knew about Slade Wilson. Sure, Dick saw it from the perspective of Slade being considered weak or having someone for people to use against him, and while that might true, Dick was forgetting about how possessive Slade was.

Killing his own soulmate could have the opposite effect for Deathstroke. People would believe him incapable of protecting his own. It would point out a completely different type of weakness and Bruce felt certain that Slade would never try to get rid of Jason.

If Dick calmed down for a moment, he’d recall the night that Joker died. The night Deathstroke attacked them and the way he’d questioned them about Robin. But then, Bruce remembered that Dick hadn’t stuck around long. The pain of Jason’s loss too fresh in the moment. Certain that Batman could handle himself, Nightwing slipped away to mourn. If only Bruce had understood what provoked Slade in the first place.

Now the unexplainable made perfect sense.

While he couldn’t say he’d figured out what Wilson had wanted all those years ago, he wasn’t at all surprised today. Looking back, it was only too logical that Jason was his soulmate. It also explained how he’d known Jason’s true death-date. His mark must have reacted to the boy’s fate.

By the time Damian brought their guests in, Dick was seated at the edge of the couch, with Roy lounged in the back. Bruce remained behind his desk, facing the door. He watched both men carefully, Jason more than Slade. Bruce wanted to be sure to pick up on any tells that Jason was in some kind of distress.

His son was dressed casually in his tactical pants from his Red Hood uniform, and he guessed he had his armor on underneath the large green sweater. A sweater that was a size too big. Definitely Slade’s. Not at all worn to hide the Red Hood logo across Jason’s chest, but to make a claim of ownership. That Bruce was certain of.

Jason’s teal blue eyes were swimming with emotion, excitement, hope, and maybe a touch of fear. His mouth was set in a straight line though, like he was doing his best to take the situation seriously. It was forced though; Bruce could see how badly he wanted to grin or make some snarky comment.

It worried him that Jason didn’t.

Had Slade already gained so much control over him?

The assassin was wearing dark wash jeans and a black sweater. He was completely unarmed, unlike Jason. Not that Slade Wilson needed to be armed to be a threat. Bruce did his best not to glare as he noted how Jason practically leaned into the older man.

“Mr. Wayne,” Slade greeted as he slung an arm around Jason’s shoulder.

“Mr. Wilson,” Bruce nodded and gestured toward the same couch Roy and Dick were seated it.

“No thanks,” Jason shook his head answering for both of them, a hint of his smile cracking the surface. “We won’t be here that long.”

“Oh?” Dick asked rising to his feet, his fists clenched. Roy immediately jumped up beside him, though he didn’t look ready to attack so much as defend.

“Dick!” Bruce snapped.

“Relax, Dickie-Bird,” Jason smiled and stepped out of Slade’s hold as he approached his brother. “I knew you’d be freaking out. I told Slade you were probably trying to mobilize Batman for some kind of search party.”

“You haven’t answered our calls!” Dick practically shouted.

Jason pulled out his phone. Or what was left of it. Bruce shook his head as he stared at the smashed item. “I uh… I forgot I had some alarms set and when it interrupted for the seventh time… I kind of killed it.”

Bruce really wished he hadn’t noticed the way Slade grinned or the soft pink blush forming over Jason’s cheeks. The scene built itself all too easily and Bruce wanted nothing more than to run away from the study to avoid hearing more.

Roy snickered as Dick frowned. If Bruce knew his son, Dick was trying to find something else to accuse Slade of. “Yeah well, you had pretty much killed Slade and then made us leave. How else did you expect me to react?”

“I didn’t. I told you that just a second ago,” Jason rolled his eyes. “I told Slade this morning we needed to make an appearance, or you’d send in the entire damned Justice League to hunt us down.”

“Jason,” Dick started, and Bruce watched as Slade started to step closer.

Bruce didn’t stand from his own seat, though he wanted to. As Roy had pointed out, there was no reason to antagonize Deathstroke into a fight. They were newly paired, it was perfectly reasonable that Slade would want to spend as much time as he could with Jason. All pairs went through that ‘honeymoon’ phase. There was no reason to think Jason and Slade would be any different.

“Don’t, Dick,” Jason warned gently. “I know you’re worried about me and I get it. I took a bat to the asshole’s head, but we’re fine.”

“For how long?” Dick argued. “This is Deathstroke we’re talking about!”

Bruce cleared his throat and finally stood when he noted Slade getting angrier. “Jason, why don’t you and Dick go talk and allow Slade and I to have a conversation.”

Before Slade could comment one way or another, Bruce was proud to see Jason turn on the assassin and growl up at him. “That’s a good idea and you know it. You don’t get to attack my brother just because you don’t like how stupid he’s being,” Dick flinched at the name calling, but seemed much happier about the idea of talking privately. Slade appeared as if he would argue, but Jason reached up and pecked him on the cheek before adding; “Trust me to defend you and our decisions as I’m going to trust you to defend me.”

It didn’t take long for the separation to occur. Bruce was all to aware of the way Slade watched Damian, Roy, Dick, and Jason leave the study. The man didn’t face him until the younger four had walked out and shut the door behind them.

“Are you going to continue hunting Roy or the other Titans?” Bruce asked as he walked to the front of his desk and then leaned against it. He wanted to be on his feet as he knew Slade wouldn’t seat himself. It was better that they faced one another on as even ground as they could.

“Jason has agreed to compensate what I lost.” Slade smirked as he placed his hands in his pockets. “Did you know?”

Bruce had expected this subject to be brought up. He shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”

“Then why’d you lie, Bruce?” Slade growled. “Why’d you tell me that Jason died on the 29th?”

“I thought you were after Titans still, I thought you were after an easy target to hurt Dick,” he answered honestly. “We didn’t know Jason was alive. We couldn’t imagine you looking for him under any other circumstances. _Had_ you told me the truth; we might have been able to find Jason together.”

Slade snorted. “You would not have,” the older man rolled his eye. “No, I think even if I told you what I was after, you wouldn’t have believed me. Or maybe you would have convinced yourself it wasn’t Jason. Either way, you might have gone looking for him, but you damned sure wouldn’t have _helped_ me.”

He didn’t deny it. There was no point. They both knew Slade was right. He wouldn’t have assisted Slade. He and Dick and Tim would have done everything they could to find and then hide Jason from Slade just in case. But that wasn’t an option now. They’d found one another and worse, they’d very clearly bonded. Only Jason or Slade could choose to separate them.

“Did you know at the time that I lied?” Bruce asked.

The assassin nodded. “I did.” There was only a brief pause before Jason’s soulmate began again. “I didn’t know for certain that it made the brat my mate, but I knew you lied either way.”

“Is that why you killed Joker?” He questioned. “Even after I said no?”

“I killed Joker for numerous reasons,” Slade shrugged. “I don’t mind telling you why, but you may not want to hear them.”

He debated only a few seconds. “Please, I’d like to know why,” he decided.

With a shrug of his broad shoulders, Slade took a seat on the couch. He crossed his right ankle over his left knee. “First, I knew you wanted to say yes. I knew you wanted it more than you were willing to admit. You were so close, Bruce,” Slade held his hand up, pinching the air to emphasize his point. He dropped his hand and grinned. “Then there was the fact that Dick was broken up over Robin’s death. So heartbroken he wouldn’t even stick around to make sure you were safe from me. I could see the trauma in his body language. He would have wanted it too, but he’d never disappoint you by admitting to it.

“Let’s not forget that you had lied to me and I damned well knew it. Even if it wasn’t much of a punishment to anyone else, I knew it would piss you off,” Slade continued with a smile, but then his smile dropped. “The decision to do it was final when I figured out the probability that Joker _had_ killed my soulmate. Even if it was only temporary. He took my mate away. He took my mark and I wasn’t going to let him get away with it.”

Bruce hated that he understood, hated that the reasons weren’t at all _un_reasonable. He didn’t condone murder. He didn’t like the idea that it only appeared to get easier for those who _did_ start killing criminals. Self-defense was one thing that Bruce believed whole-heartedly in. But to go out with the idea that you were going to kill a criminal? That was murder. Plain and simple.

“You made quite a mess of him,” Bruce voiced his thought aloud as he recalled the scene that he’d been called into.

“Believe it or not, I hadn’t intended on doing more than putting a bullet in his brain pan. You’d given him enough of a beating as far as I was concerned, but I wanted to see him face to face. I wanted him to know who was there to kill him and why,” Slade answered, but then his face contorted with rage. “But he had to run his fucking mouth. He had to laugh about what he’d done, about the fear he witnessed and the screams he’d forced out of him. He explained in graphic detail what he’d done. I told him to shut his fucking mouth, but he kept laughing, so I grabbed his jaw and ripped it off.”

Bruce nodded, but he still didn’t approve. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything he could do about it. And to be honest, despite the fact that he’d made it very clear to Jason that it wasn’t him or his brothers who’d killed the clown, it’s what brought Jason back to them under friendly circumstances. Jason had once told him he didn’t know what he would have done had he come back to Gotham and the clown was still alive. He told Bruce it was best that neither of them think about it.

“So, if you knew he was your soulmate, why didn’t you find him sooner? Why didn’t you claim him until last night?” Bruce asked.

“I scoured the globe looking for him, certain that Jason Todd was back from the dead, that you’d lied, and that he was my soulmate,” Slade frowned and then shook his head. “But I never found him. Jason Todd never re-surfaced and after about a year and a half of searching and finding nothing on him, I figured I must have been wrong.”

“And you didn’t know The Red Hood was Robin?’” Bruce asked.

“Honestly, Gotham isn’t all that often on my radar. I could care less who’s running around killing people in this city. Well, so long as they aren’t taking out anyone _I’m_ contracted to go after.”

Bruce pulled himself off the desk and then crossed his arms over his chest as he looked down at Slade. The man still sat comfortably on the piece of furniture. He wasn’t uncomfortable at all. If anything he was as relaxed as if ever. He did envy the man that bit of self-control. To know that no one could question what you were feeling unless you wanted them to?

It would come in handy.

“And how are we moving forward, Slade?”

“My work requires that I travel, Jason’s doesn’t,” he shrugged. “We’ll set up a spot here in the city for when we’re in the area, but he’s agreed to travel with me for a while. In return for his following me around the globe for the foreseeable future, I’ve promised that all Bats and Titans, former and current, are off limits.”

“Unless you’re defending yourself,” Bruce guessed.

Slade grinned. “Your son is a good negotiator. Very thorough.”

Bruce didn’t sigh, though he was aggravated enough to do so. Dick was going to flip when he found out that Jason was leaving Gotham. He wasn’t all too thrilled by it either.

“He’s not you, Slade, he’s not a cold-blood killer,” Bruce warned. “Don’t try to make him one.”

“Don’t worry Bruce, you and I have a lot in common, but not that much,” Slade grinned from his seat. “Unlike you, I’m perfectly capable of accepting Jason _as is_.”

* * *

Jason pushed the group along, having to actually shove them once or twice to get them into the game room.

“This is a bad idea,” Roy frowned. “I really don’t think we should be leaving those two alone.”

Jason rolled his eyes as Dick looked back at him. “Slade isn’t going to lay a finger on, Bruce.”

“-tt- As if he could,” Damian hissed from somewhere below everyone’s waists. Well, everyone but Dick’s.

“Jason, you can’t be serious about this, you just can’t,” Dick pleaded the moment they got in the room.

He sighed and shook his head. “I’m more disturbed by how hard it’s going to be to convince you that everything is fine versus B.”

Dick looked more upset than Jason had seen in a long time. It actually worried him. How afraid of Deathstroke was Dick? To be fair, he had been missing some time. Maybe their rivalry had heated up? Or, maybe Jason was being an insensitive prick. After all, how traumatizing had it been for a grown man to beat Jason death? Just because Slade hadn’t succeeded, didn’t mean it was any less frightening to be hunted.

When Dick didn’t laugh or joke or even crack a smile, Jason knew he was right. Dick was genuinely afraid that Deathstroke would kill him. He looked to Roy and wasn’t surprised to see the same concern mirrored in the man’s eye’s.

“Dickie-bird, you have to know I would never, ever allow him to harm you or anyone else,” Jason tried as he approached his brother. Dick was a touchy-feely kind of guy. He grabbed hold of the older man’s hands and gave them a tight squeeze. “I wouldn’t let him hurt me, either. You know that, right?”

His brother shook his head and closed his eyes tightly. “Jason, you don’t get it. He could kill you so easily, he could take you away again.”

Jason took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, I see where he _can_, but this is what you aren’t getting, Dick. He won’t.”

Roy snorted as he shook his head. “Come on, dude, you know that’s not a good way to look at this. He can but he won’t? Now whose being naïve?”

“Roy, Dick, can either one of you imagine killing one another?” Jason asked.

They each immediately and without hesitation denied it as a possibility. Jason grinned and looked to Damian. “You have a soulmark kid, you gonna kill yours?”

“I could if I had to.” Damian shrugged.

“That doesn’t help, Jason,” Dick frowned.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Just shut up and listen. I felt the same as Damian before I heard those words, you guys. I’ve been expecting one of our villains since I saw the mark and hyping myself to _kill_ my soulmate. Before Slade said anything, I was just as a certain as Damian that I would kill them if it came down to it, but I can’t.

“I cannot for the life of me imagine needing to, let alone wanting to,” Jason said softly. “It will be the same for Damian and I know it’s the same for Slade.”

“But, Jason, you did kill your soulmate,” Dick pointed out.

Damian’s eyes widened at that as he looked over at Jason. Roy frowned and scratched at the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable but so obviously wanting to say “I told you so.”

Jason sighed and shook his head. How did he explain it so that they could understand it? Would they be convinced? He wasn’t going to waste all day trying to calm Dick down, but he would at least try. He didn’t want the Titans or Bats hunting him and Slade down as they travelled the world together.

“Yes, technically I did, but we hadn’t, you know…” Jason blushed as he looked at Damian and then he stared up at Dick and Roy. “_Sealed_ the bond, yet.”

Dick looked down at Damian. “Out. We’ve reached the NC-17 portion of our discussion and you must vacate the game room.”

Roy laughed, and Jason fully expected Damian to fight them, but instead he tutted at them and left voluntarily. “As if I want to hear about Jason’s sex life with a geriatric.” Damian sneered as he approached the door.

“Thanks Demon Spawn,” Jason called out as the door firmly closed.

“How the hell did you go from beating that man’s head in to fucking him?” Roy asked before Dick could ask his own question.

“We could… feel it. You know, the emotional bleed? The echoes? It was like one minute it was all adrenaline and rage and the next it was all adrenaline and lust and he,” Jason closed his eyes as his cheeks warmed. “So, he grabbed me by the throat one more time and I made it obvious I wanted his hands squeezing something else.”

Dick looked horrified, but Roy, the pervert, only grinned. Jason wanted to smack the redhead, and if only to distract himself from more thoughts of his soulmate and what they’d done together, he allowed the fantasy to play once or twice more in his head.

They all three stared at one another, Jason enjoying the idea that he’d made them both feel awkward. Roy was probably wanting Jason to leave so that he could pounce on Dick. On the other hand, Dick wanted to know that Jason was okay and look at their night together as clinically as possible to determine if Jason was in danger.

“I know him, Jason, I’m telling you that you can’t trust him. He’ll kill you if you piss him off,” Dick warned.

“I’d believe you, if wasn’t for the fact that I quite literally smashed his skull in and instead of killing me he fucked me into oblivion,” Jason snickered. “Now, I need you to back off, Dick. Just for a while. We’re leaving tonight. Please don’t follow. He’s already promised me that Titans, current or former, as well as the Batclan are all off limits. That is, if you all promise to leave him alone.”

He hated seeing how hurt and terrified Dick was, but what else could Jason do? He wasn’t going to lie to him. And it wasn’t Jason’s place to coddle or mollify Dick. Speaking of, he looked to Roy and leveled him with a glare that very plainly said “Don’t you let him get himself killed. Keep your mate on a leash.”

Roy nodded as if Jason had spoken aloud.

* * *

Slade took his soulmate’s hand into his own as they left the manor. He and Jason ignored the eyes that watched and followed them. Bruce knew that physical his son was safe and maybe now, a little more secure in knowing that Slade had zero intentions of making Jason another Deathstroke.

It was evident that Dick had no such securities or assurances. Roy was holding Dick’s hand so tight that both hands were practically white. Not much of a difference for Roy, but definitely noticeable when compared with Dick’s Mediterranean complexion.

“Thank you,” Jason said as soon as they were in Slade’s car.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Slade chuckled as they each put on their seatbelts. “If they interfere or attack me or you in anyway, it is now within my right to defend myself.”

“Roy won’t let Dick do anything stupid, and Bruce isn’t gonna come after you,” Jason scoffed.

“I’m sorry,” Slade laughed as he stared at Jason incredulously. “Did you just put all your eggs in Roy’s basket? That boy’s stupidity is the whole reason I found you, Hood.”

Jason grinned. “Okay, yes, that’s true. But he’s still not gonna let Dick provoke you.”

With a shake of his head, Slade pulled out of the manor’s driveway. “If you say so.”

He was relieved when Jason didn’t argue. Instead the younger grabbed Slade’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “So where are we headed first?”

“Norway,” Slade grinned. “Some meta broke out of a maximum security holding cell and managed to kill four people in the past twenty-four hours.” He only paused a second before looking Jason in his lovely blue eyes. “You wanna help with this one?”

A light of pleasure flashed in Jason’s eyes and Slade felt the echo of excitement in his soulmate. “Hell yeah.”


End file.
